


under your influence, don't let me go

by bitnotgood



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5471354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitnotgood/pseuds/bitnotgood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words are hard and kissing is easy.</p>
<p>or: five times gansey and ronan kissed and didn't talk about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	under your influence, don't let me go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [corialis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corialis/gifts).



**1.**

When Ronan first meets Gansey, he’s surprised to find that he is not, in fact, a complete asshole. Instead, he's a gigantic nerd with a hard on for dead Welsh kings.

“Okay,” he says slowly after Gansey’s explained the history of Glendower in context of his own explorations. The two boys are sitting in the middle of Monmouth Manufacturing amongst a sea of new and old books. Gansey is giving him an almost apologetic look, mixed with an expression of pride only worn by parents of newborn children. In a few hours Gansey has told Ronan more history than he ever cared to find out, and to his surprise, Ronan doesn't even mind.

Gansey nods as though there was never any doubt Ronan would believe him. It's in Gansey’s posture and the tilt of his head when he looks over at Ronan, but it doesn't fool Ronan. They haven't known each other long, but he can see the faintest traces of worry in Gansey’s eyes that let on that he might've thought Ronan would have laughed instead. 

After that, Ronan does laugh. “Of course this all sounds fucking insane, but I guess I can go along with it, _Dick_.”

Gansey rolls his eyes in a way that says _haha_ and _fuck you_ while managing to look very sincere. He doesn't bother responding with words. Instead he returns to his books, picking one up and letting his fingers brush along the pages. 

For a brief moment Ronan thinks about Gansey touching him in the same way, and mentally recoils as soon as the thought hits. He feels too warm all of a sudden, overexposed. Ronan looks at Gansey, but he hasn't noticed a change. He's still looking at his books as though they are the only things to have ever loved him the right way.

It is this moment that Ronan realizes just how attractive Gansey is. Ronan’s noticed before that Gansey is attractive, obviously. He isn’t blind, or stupid enough to think that Gansey’s not attractive. But before this moment he's been objective, and now he feels as though he's been kicked in the stomach.

Gansey has wide eyes and a stupid face that looks beautiful in the setting sun. In this moment, Ronan also decides that he'll do whatever it takes to keep that stupid face in his life, as long as he can keep looking at it. Even if it means following after a fucking nerd.

Somewhere during Ronan’s mild freak out, Gansey has moved closer into his bubble. It takes Ronan by surprise how close they are. That, and the fact that Ronan enjoys pushing limits, is how Ronan ends up pressing his mouth against Gansey’s.

Gansey makes a startled noise that results in a huff of breath along Ronan’s cheek. Ronan expects him to pull away, but his stomach twists when Gansey’s lips part just enough for their mouths to slot together. 

It isn’t a long kiss, or the best kiss Ronan’s ever had. Gansey’s lips are a little chapped and his glasses press into Ronan’s cheek a funny way, but it makes him feel warmer inside than any other. When they part, Gansey’s eyes are wide and his face is a nice shade of pink that Ronan would love to see on Gansey forever. 

Gansey blinks at Ronan and a silence settles between them. He expects Gansey to say something shitty, but thinks better of it. Then he expects Gansey to make a polite excuse and kindly ask Ronan to leave and never return. But that doesn't happen. 

“As I was saying,” Gansey begins after clearing his throat. He starts talking about ley lines in other parts of the country and how they compare to the one in Henrietta. Gansey doesn't move from where he's sitting close to Ronan, their knees barely touching. 

_Right_ , Ronan thinks. _This is_ fine, _no big deal._

**2.**

The annual holiday fundraising gala is actually not the worst event Gansey’s mother hosts. However, he still manages to get Ronan to come along with him--not that Gansey had really meant to ask Ronan to come with. He was just going over his plans for exploring the depths of Henrietta with Ronan one day, and it slipped out.

“We won't be able to go because I'm expected to go to a gala event for my mom.” Ronan raises an eyebrow at this, and Gansey laughs. “You should come with.” He means it as a joke, a sort of retaliation to Ronan’s raised eyebrow. But to Gansey’s surprise, Ronan shrugs and says, “Sure.”

Ronan fits in surprisingly well at the gala. He’s wearing a crisp expensive suit and a grey tie. He's also wearing a sharp smile that he saves for the few people who manage to pull him out of the shadows. It's not exactly Ronan hiding, it's just him not caring quite enough.

He loses track of Ronan for a few minutes, and by the time he finds him again, Gansey has already managed to sneak a couple glasses of champagne. He only sees him in his peripheral vision at first, because a man, some important member of society, steps into Gansey’s line of vision. From what he can see past the man Ronan’s eyes are devious, if not mocking, and his smile is sly.

When the man (Mr. Thompson?) finally leaves, Ronan curls his fingers into the crook of Gansey’s elbow and pulls him away from the small groups of people gathered in the main room. His head tips down to touch Gansey’s. “I might've stolen a bottle of something.” Ronan’s breath is hot against his neck, and Gansey blames the wave of warmth in his stomach on the champagne and the effects of talking to too many people. 

“My family will be so happy I brought a thief to the gala.” Not that anyone will actually notice a single missing bottle of--he looks down to find a bottle of rum hidden in Ronan’s suit coat. “You’re lucky Dick Gansey is more of a scotch and soda man,” he says, leading Ronan to one of his father's many studies. 

Ronan’s hand slides down the length of his arm, and Gansey grabs at his long fingers. Gansey guides him down a long hallway until they come to a tall a doorframe. As they push through the doors, Gansey lets Ronan’s hand go. He hears Ronan let out a low whistle, not that he’s impressed, as he walks past Gansey and sits down on the ornate couch in the center of the room. He unscrews the top of the bottle and tosses the cap onto the table before taking a long, slow drink.

In a suit, now sprawled carelessly across this couch, Ronan almost looks like he belongs here more than Gansey. He’s cleaned up and gives off the certain air of arrogance all Algionby boys give off most of the time. It’s the type of aura that should fit in well with expensive people. But Gansey still sees Ronan in black jeans with holes in the knees, leather jackets, and scuffed boots, the boy who recoils at the very idea of rubbing shoulders with businessmen and government officials. He sees Ronan at the Barns with a lazy smile as he runs his hand through Matthew’s curls. 

The thought is interrupted when Ronan calls, “Hey, are you gonna come and help me drink this, or are you just going to keep standing there looking like an uncomfortable future member of congress?” Gansey sighs and walks over to the couch. 

As Gansey expects, Ronan doesn’t move at all to give him any room. He stretches farther across the couch like a house cat, the tips of his dress shoes pushing into the arm of the couch. 

“Are those your church shoes?” Gansey asks. He can’t imagine Ronan owning more than a pair for church, because he most definitely isn’t going to spend any of his respect on the Algionby dress code. Ronan shrugs and hands Gansey the bottle of rum as though that’s an answer. Gansey takes the bottle and just assumes he’s correct. 

Ronan looks at him expectantly, as if to say, _Well?_ So Gansey lifts the bottle to hips lips and takes his own drink. He doesn’t let himself think about Ronan’s mouth wrapped around the lip of the bottle just a few moments ago. The taste of the rum and the heat at the back of his throat make him wince. He holds the bottle back up to Ronan, but Ronan is contorting himself out of his jacket and loosening his tie. Ronan throws the coat behind the couch and turns back to catch Gansey staring. His eyebrows raise, and Gansey can feel the back of his neck flush. 

“Lynch,” he says, passing the opened bottle over. Ronan reaches a hand out to take the bottle and gives Gansey a sharp, overconfident smile. Gansey wants to tell him he doesn’t have to do that here, but the thought floats away when their fingers touch.

They pass the bottle back and forth for maybe an hour, Gansey isn’t sure. He’s not exactly sure what time is in this shared bubble of space he and Ronan have created for themselves. Gansey doesn’t know when it happens, but the talking has drifted off and Ronan has moved from the couch to the floor with his side pressed against Gansey’s. He likes the solid presence of warmth Ronan offers alongside him, but maybe it’s just the amount of alcohol in his system. He feels light and tingly, and he tells Ronan just that. 

“Why Dick Gansey, are you a _lightweight_?” Ronan says the word like it’s the worst thing someone could be accused of.

“A lightweight?” Gansey laughs. “Ronan Lynch, we have consumed almost a whole bottle of rum.” He laughs again. “We were drinking rum, right?”

Ronan lets out his own huff of a laugh and kicks the bottle near his foot. There’s enough liquid left in the bottle for a little bit to spill out of the opening when it tips over. “Whoops,” he says, but he doesn’t sound anything close to apologetic.

At the close proximity, Gansey notices the top two buttons of Ronan’s shirt are undone, giving him a perfect view of Ronan’s collarbone. Now, Gansey’s seen that collarbone before. In fact, he’s seen Ronan completely shirtless _many_ times, but never before has Gansey had such a strong need to lick him. 

While Gansey is most definitely drunk, he has sense enough to know that licking Ronan’s collarbone is maybe not the best option, but he can’t help the way his hand moves toward the patch of bare skin.

“The fuck are you doing, Gansey?”

“Do you mind?” Gansey asks instead. When he shakes his head no, Gansey runs the tips of his fingers along the hot skin. He feels the way Ronan shivers, just once, and then he feels the fast flutter of Ronan’s pulse. Gansey wants to touch more, but then Ronan’s mouth is right _there_ , so Gansey leans in and kisses him. 

He means to pull back, but Ronan chases his mouth with his own, nips at his lip and digs his fingers into Gansey’s hip. Gansey moves his hand up to the base of Ronan’s head and holds him near. Time passes at a slow pace and Gansey has never been happier. 

**3.**

Two weeks after Niall Lynch’s death, Ronan tries to beat the shit out of Declan. 

Just because he’s older doesn’t mean he knows any better than Ronan. Just because he’s older doesn’t mean he’s stronger, in all definitions of the word. Ronan tries to explain this with a well placed punch across Declan’s cheek. The contact of Ronan’s fist against Declan’s face stings, but it feels right in the moment, as though beating on Declan will erase the images of his bleeding father from his mind.

It doesn’t help. Neither of the brothers win the fight. There’s never a real winner when the Lynch boys fight. They’re both black and blue by the end of it. Declan’s eye is swollen, and Ronan’s hand is stiff and bruised. 

When Ronan gets back to Monmouth Manufacturing, it is blessedly empty. He drags himself up the stairs and down the hall to his room. For the first time since discovering his dad’s body, Ronan feels tired. He feels the weight of sleep in the ache of his bones and the throbbing in his skull. When he gets to his room, Ronan just wants to sleep, but he hears the rumble of the Pig outside and hopes that Gansey hasn’t been looking for him. 

“Lynch?” he calls from the first floor. Ronan doesn’t say anything, instead praying, for the briefest of moments, that Gansey would stop being _Gansey_ and leave Ronan the fuck alone. That, of course, does not happen. 

Ronan’s lying face down on his bed when Gansey finally appears at his door. He’s silent, most likely watching for the rise and fall of Ronan’s back. Ronan weighs the pros and cons of staying still and willing Gansey to go away, but he knows he won’t. He can practically see Gansey’s sad disappointed face, he’s seen it so many times since his own dad’s death that it’s now permanently etched behind his eyelids.

Ronan sighs and lifts his uninjured hand in the direction of Gansey to give him the middle finger.

“Oh, so you’re not dead.” Gansey means to sound sarcastic, but he’s terrible at that when he’s actually worried. 

“I’m fine,” Ronan says, turning to his side and then sits up. He notices the way Gansey’s eyes trace his body, taking inventory, and focusing on his swollen hand. “It’s _fine_ ,” he insists again, but doesn’t meet Gansey’s eyes.

He hears Gansey sigh and then he’s walking over to the edge of Ronan’s bed. “Come on, we have to take care of that hand.”

Gansey makes a grab at Ronan’s uninjured hand, but Ronan smacks him away. “Just leave it, Gansey. I don’t need your fucking help.” 

Gansey’s face flashes through a wave of emotions: anger, disappointment, resignation. “But you _do_. You need someone’s help if this is how you’re going to deal with this.”

Ronan laughs. “What was that? I didn’t hear you, what am I trying to deal with?”

Gansey levels him with a cool stare. “Getting into fights, street racing, drinking… none of that is going to bring your dad back.” Gansey’s voice is calm and even. Ronan would almost call it pleasant if he wasn’t focused on the buzzing in his head.

He stands up and shoves himself into Gansey’s space. “What the fuck do you know, huh?”

“I know that what you’re doing isn’t helping, Ronan.”

Ronan’s name coming out of Gansey’s mouth sounds sad, and Ronan would just really like him to shut up. He grabs at Gansey’s shirt with both hands and crushes their mouths together. He winces when his stiff knuckles brush against Gansey’s chest, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing Gansey harder. 

This kiss is a continuation of their argument. Ronan is fierce, while Gansey tries to slow things down. When Ronan bites at Gansey’s lip, Gansey licks his way back into Ronan’s mouth, and the tight coil of anger in Ronan’s stomach slowly undoes itself. He loosens his fists from Gansey’s shirt and lets his hands slide down to his sides.

Gansey’s the one to pull away from the kiss, but he presses his forehead against Ronan’s. For a brief, tense moment, Ronan thinks Gansey is going to say something about the kissing or the fighting. He’s not sure which would be worse in this moment, but Gansey does neither. He just breathes in the air Ronan breathes out.

After a moment Gansey squeezes his shoulder. “Come on,” he says, and he laces his fingers with Ronan’s good hand. Gansey doesn’t leave time for Ronan to resist, just leads him to the bathroom/kitchen and motions for him to sit on the toilet. As Ronan watches from the toilet he realizes that he’ll always back down when it comes to Gansey.

Gansey motions for Ronan to give him his bruised hand, and Ronan does easily. He wraps a cool washcloth around the raised knuckles. Ronan doesn’t apologize, but he offers Gansey a small smile. Ronan wants to think he’ll be better, do better for Gansey, but he can’t guarantee it. Gansey rubs a thumb across the back of Ronan’s hand. “It’s okay,” he says, and then he finally leaves Ronan to himself. 

**4.**

Ronan doesn’t feel inspired by Pythagoras or his theorem, or literally anything dealing with numbers _and_ letters. There are a thousand better things that he could be doing and only two more classes to go to today, so he decides to say _fuck it_ and not go. 

He’s on his way out of a side exit when he catches sight of Gansey peering into the room Ronan’s class would be taking place. Ronan watches how Gansey’s eyes scan the classroom, notices Gansey realizing that Ronan is not in class. Gansey shakes his head. 

Ronan could probably make an escape without Gansey noticing, but he doesn’t. He lets Gansey spot him instead. Ronan waves and offers Gansey a smirk. Gansey rolls his eyes.

“You could at least look a little shameful,” Gansey says as he approaches. He stands a foot away from Ronan with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

Ronan means it in context of school and class, feeling bad for skipping out on assignments and bullshit. But Gansey shifts his weight from one foot to the other and his cheeks turn the rosy shade of red that Ronan likes so well on Gansey’s face. Maybe Gansey would like for Ronan to look shameful, but Ronan knows for a fact he’d like to see it on Gansey.

Gansey starts to say something, but Ronan steps forward and swallows the words before they leave his mouth. 

At the back of Ronan’s mind, he thinks about how they’re making out in a public place. Even though the halls are empty, it's an incredibly un-Gansey thing to do. But Gansey presses into Ronan’s touch like he's trying to make a home in Ronan’s chest. 

Ronan wants to tell Gansey’s that he's welcome there, he can stay forever, but words are hard and kissing Gansey is easy. 

**5.**

When Gansey allows himself the time to think about it, he isn't surprised that Ronan Lynch can bring things out of his dreams. It makes sense, he thinks as he watches Ronan sit at the foot of Gansey’s bed. He has one leg pulled up under himself and the other foot taps along to some beat on the floor. 

Gansey is sitting on the floor, a few feet away, replacing tiny cardboard shingles on tiny Henrietta buildings. Ronan is rolling something between his hands that Gansey can't make out from this distance.

It makes sense that Ronan can pull things out his dreams. It's as though they're tiny pieces of Ronan that he can't share with words, he can only pull them out of himself.

_Dream me the stars_ , he had told Ronan once before. As Gansey watches Ronan from his spot on the floor, he thinks that Ronan could dream up another world entirely. He wonders what kind of world Ronan’s beautiful mind could dream up. He wonders if Ronan would, if he's happy enough here in this world with their friends. With Gansey. 

Gansey doesn't let himself think about Ronan's dreams too much because they feed into his own anxieties. Sometimes Gansey worries that they'll lose Ronan to his dreams. He thinks of giant bird-like creatures climbing out of Ronan’s nightmares solely to destroy Ronan. There are other times Gansey worries the dreams might end up better than reality, and Ronan won't want to come back to him. 

Looking back at the miniature Henrietta, Gansey thinks about what he'd do without Ronan in his life. Without any of them in his life. There's a dull ache in his chest, and he can't tell if it's a good ache or a bad one.

He's still adding bits and pieces to the model when he hears the creak of the floor with Ronan’s footsteps. He sits down next to Gansey and rolls the object past Gansey’s knee onto the makeshift road leading through Henrietta. It's a miniature version of the Pig. 

Gansey doesn't need to ask to know whether Ronan had dreamed this little car. He knows, too, that it will be an exact replica to the car parked outside. When he picks it up to give it a closer look, he finds that it's identical in every way. 

The tiny car feels heavy in the palm of Gansey’s hand. Its meaning is too much for Gansey to figure out right now. He's holding a tiny piece of Ronan’s soul, and he's not sure what to do with it--what Ronan wants him to do with it.

He can feel Ronan’s eyes tracing his movements. It feels like a confession when he tightens his grip around the car and moves closer to Ronan. He brings his free hand up to cup the side of Ronan’s face and pulls him close.

Gansey feels Ronan’s eyelashes brush against the tops of his cheek and thinks stupidly of angel kisses and feather light touches. All at once the ache in Gansey chest spreads into a dull warmth as he kisses Ronan. He scoots closer into Ronan’s lap and Ronan’s fingers tangle into his hair. 

It's three in the morning and neither boy has slept in the past thirty-two hours, but in this moment Gansey feels as though he's home. Like the only home he was ever meant to have was here in Ronan’s lap, surrounded by a tiny town he's built with his own two hands.


End file.
